Top Posts Tagged with #mating bond

Invisible | Azriel | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - Feyre was a High Lady. Nesta was a Valkyrie. Elain was a Seer.

And she was the sister the Cauldron ruined and forgot.

Invisible in a family of legends, haunted by nightmares no one noticed, she learned to stay quiet... to expect nothing.

Except Azriel noticed. The Shadowsinger who never spoke too much saw everything—her pain, her loneliness... and the bond between them she didn't even know existed.

When the world decides she is the easiest one to break—Azriel will make them suffer for it.

Tags - slow burn, mating bond, emotional hurt/comfort, healing, angst

•18+ Adults Only

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how do we feel about the idea of Az being super touch averse (esp after being kept alone in the dark his whole childhood and his hands burned by his so called family/half brothers) UNTIL he meets his mate? I feel like she would absolutely respect his boundaries but he’s so touch starved and he loves her sm that he talks to her about starting with small touches and working their way up and then they eventually get to the point that she can touch him wherever and however she wants and she’s always so affectionate and loving and just pours all her adoration for him into every touch and he just smiles like a dork every time. But the first time the IC see her all over him they tense and wait for him to tell her off but he just leans into it and kisses her

loved this idea! i so agree re: him not loving touch/knowing how to accept it or initiate it. i wasn't gonna post this because by the time it was done it felt like it fell flat, but decided to post it anyway; apologies if it didn't hit the way you wanted it to!

Azriel x mate!reader who brings out a different side of him [1.5k words]

CW: fem!reader, dirty jokes, references to sex but SFW, fluff

Feyre hasn’t known Azriel for as long as most of the Inner Circle, and most of what she knows about the notoriously private male comes from the stories shared with her from his family.

But there is one thing Feyre has come to know about the Shadowsinger that no one needed to inform her about.

Azriel has a clear aversion to touch.

For someone whose job can be so physical, he keeps physical contact to an absolute minimum.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #reader insert #azriel fluff #mating bond #azriel fic #azriel ficlet #azriel #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #ellecdc fics

Shadows and Sunlight

Pairing: Azriel x Mate f!reader

Summary: She is a Day Court princess, the light in every room, loud, bright, and adored. He is the Night Court’s spymaster, hidden in shadows, haunted by the knowledge that she deserves better.

Warnings: mating bond, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional insecurity, slow-burn romance, angst, fluff

Word count: 2,500

Author’s Note: Another request completed! I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

ABIENCE ⋆⭒˚.⋆ — rhysand

(n.) the strong urge to avoid someone or something

soft!dark!rhysand x fem!highfae!reader

You have spent your entire life knowing that one day, you might belong to Rhysand.

cw: mdni, dark(ish) themes, possessive/obsessive behaviour, big fat power imbalance, arranged marriage kinda trope, reader is terrified of rhys, feyre and him aren't mates in this story, problematic themes overall

a/n: writing rhys is so fun

You had been promised to Rhysand long before you understood what marriage even meant.

It was one of those facts that simply existed. Like the Sidra. Like starlight. Like the mountains surrounding Velaris.

Something decided by adults in rooms you were never permitted to enter and discussed over wine while children played elsewhere.

Your father had been one of the Night Court's most trusted courtiers. One of the few males Rhysand's father had genuinely respected.

The agreement had been reached when you were barely old enough to speak in complete sentences.

If Rhysand did not find his mate by the time you came of age, if fate did not intervene with its unpredictable hand, then you would marry.

It wasn't uncommon. It was the sort of arrangement noble families made every day.

Only there was one small problem.

You were completely and utterly terrified of Rhysand.

The first time you remembered meeting him, you had been perhaps sixteen, young enough to still hide behind your father whenever unfamiliar people addressed you.

Rhysand had already been well over a century old. Already taller than most males in the room. Already powerful enough that people unconsciously moved aside when he entered. Already carrying himself like someone destined to rule.

You remembered peeking around your father's shoulder, and seeing violet eyes settle on you.

Gods.

You had nearly died, not literally. But your heart had certainly attempted to flee your body.

Rhysand had smiled at you, a slow curve of his lips that was equal parts amusement and something else entirely, something you were far too young and far too sheltered to identify. And you had immediately hidden again.

The sound of his laughter had followed you all evening.

From that moment onward, you had spent most of your life avoiding him at all cost.

When he returned from training in the Illyrian mountains, you disappeared. When he attended court functions, you developed sudden illnesses. When your father informed you that Rhysand wished to spend time with you, you found increasingly ridiculous excuses.

Once, you had claimed you needed to reorganize your books, all three hundred of them, alphabetically, by color, and then by height. Another time, you insisted that a particular flowerpot in the garden required your immediate and undivided attention, as it had been looking "rather sad" lately.

Your father had nearly laughed himself sick.

Rhysand, unfortunately, had only smiled.

"You know," he'd said conversationally while watching you attempt to disappear behind a particularly decorative shrub, "I'm beginning to think she's avoiding me."

You had nearly tripped over your own feet.

Your father had sighed into his wine. "You frighten her."

Rhysand's gaze had remained exactly where you stood frozen.

"I know."

Nothing more, just that quiet, god-forsaken certainty he'd always possessed.

It only made everything worse.

He never chased you. Never cornered you. Never insisted you stay. He simply watched you flee with the endless patience of someone entirely unconcerned by the distance between you.

Like he had all the time in the world. Perhaps he did.

You certainly didn't. You couldn't help it.

He was overwhelming, even then. Before becoming High Lord. Before the reputation of being the most powerful male in Prythian.

He had possessed a presence unlike anyone else.

And whenever those impossible violet eyes settled on you, it felt as though he saw entirely too much.

So you hid. And he watched. Patiently, always patiently, because he had never been anything else when it came to you.

Years passed. Then decades. Then centuries.

Your father died. Soon after the tragedy that took both his sister and mother, Rhysand's father followed.

And suddenly the terrifying heir became High Lord.

The entire Night Court shifted beneath his command. Cassian became General. Azriel became Spymaster. Amren became his second-in-command. Mor his third-in-command.

The Inner Circle slowly took shape around him. They were warriors, leaders, survivors, bound together by blood, battle, and an unshakeable devotion to their High Lord.

They had fought in wars long before you were born, had bled and killed and nearly died for the court they loved.

And somehow, there was you.

You had no idea what your place among them was supposed to be.

You couldn't fight, couldn't spy, couldn't command armies. Had never even stepped foot on a battlefield. While they carried centuries of scars, your life had remained sheltered, peaceful and safe. You often felt like an accidental addition to a group you had no business belonging to.

Still, when Rhysand informed you that you too would be moving into the Town House, you weren't exactly surprised.

But disappointed. Hopeful, perhaps, because some foolish part of you had whispered that maybe, just maybe, the arrangement would die alongside your fathers. That Rhysand would become too busy, too occupied ruling an entire court, too distracted by the weight of his new responsibilities to remember an agreement made centuries ago.

You had been wrong.

Instead, your belongings were packed. Your room prepared. Before you knew it, you found yourself living beneath the same roof as the most powerful male in Prythian.

And your future remained exactly where it had always been; tied to Rhysand. The subject unspoken of, but always present. Neither of you discussed it. You certainly weren't brave enough to. And Rhysand…Rhysand never seemed interested in forcing the conversation.

Which, somehow, was even more unnerving. It was as though he had already decided the ending and was merely waiting for the story to catch up to his expectations.

You spent years navigating around him, around all of them. Growing closer to the Inner Circle while never quite feeling like one of them.

Mor dragged you shopping until your feet ached and your stomach hurt from laughing. Cassian annoyed you relentlessly and somehow made you feel more like a younger sister than an outsider. Azriel appeared silently whenever you needed help. Even Amren grew strangely fond of you, though she would sooner drink spoiled blood than admit it aloud.

You loved them, truly.

But there was always a distance, an invisible line. Because they belonged to one another in a way you never quite did.

Then Amarantha came. And when Rhysand was trapped Under the Mountain, the world changed in ways you couldn't fully comprehend.

For fifty years he was gone.

The strangest thing about those years was discovering how much space he'd occupied in your life.

Because suddenly he wasn't there. No deep laughter drifting through the Town House late at night. No familiar feeling of awareness prickling over your skin whenever he happened to look your way.

Nothing.

And somehow his absence felt larger than his presence had.

You hated admitting that. Especially to yourself.

You had expected to feel relief. Instead, you found yourself pausing whenever anyone mentioned Under the Mountain. Listening a little too carefully whenever the others talked of Amarantha.

Sometimes, standing on the balcony of the Town House long after everyone else had gone to sleep, you caught yourself staring toward the horizon, wondering whether someone like Rhysand could truly be broken.

Whether anything in the world was capable of dimming a force that had always seemed…inevitable.

The answer, it seemed, was yes. Though not entirely.

During those decades, life continued in Velaris. It had to. The city endured, and the Inner Circle protected Velaris with fierce determination, ensuring that Amarantha's corruption never touched the hidden sanctuary Rhysand had so carefully build.

The Town House remained full. Just…quieter. Even Cassian laughed a little less.

For the first time in your life, the future felt strangely unwritten. There was no Rhysand quietly existing at the edge of every decision, no overwhelming presence unconsciously shaping the rhythm of your days.

And somewhere during those fifty years, you began building something that belonged solely to you.

Your own friends. Your own routines. Your own apartment.

The apartment had been a battle. Not a dramatic one. There hadn't been any shouting or arguments. Just subtle resistance, the kind Rhysand's family excelled at, the kind that wore you down through sheer persistence, until surrender seemed easier than insisting otherwise.

Cassian had argued that you would be safer at the Town House, that being alone made you vulnerable. Mor had worried that you would become isolated. Azriel had said nothing, but you had felt the weight of his disapproving silence like a physical presence.

Amren, surprisingly, was the one who sided with you. "Let her go," she had said, her voice flat and disinterested. "She's not a child. If she wants to live alone, she should be allowed to."

Eventually, they relented.

You got your apartment. Under the compromise that you would stay at the Town House at least twice a week, a promise you gradually became worse and worse at keeping.

Because your apartment represented freedom. Limited freedom, certainly, but freedom nonetheless. It was a space that belonged entirely to you, filled with books you had chosen, plants you liked and paintings you had admired.

You built a life entirely separate from Rhysand. Or as separate as it could truly be.

Cassian still dropped by unexpectedly under increasingly transparent excuses. Azriel's shadows somehow always seemed to know when you walked home alone. Mor continued dragging you to Rita's whenever she decided you'd spent too many evenings hiding with a book.

You loved them for it. Even if it occasionally felt suspiciously coordinated.

Sometimes at Rita's, you watched Mor flirt openly with strangers. Watched her laugh, choose whichever male caught her interest that evening, and leave with him without a backward glance. Watched her return the following day like nothing had happened, no explanations required, no apologies offered.

You wondered what that kind of freedom felt like.

What it might be like to someday find your person. Not a future husband selected by men long gone. Not the High Lord. Not something arranged through politics.

Someone yours. Someone who chose you. Someone you chose back.

You held onto that dream stubbornly.

Even when Cassian scared away half the males who approached you. Even when Azriel's learned the identities of every male who expressed interest.

Even when part of you suspected Rhysand would never truly allow another male near you.

Not even from beneath a mountain.

You still hoped.

Because fifty years was a very long time. Long enough, you told yourself, for promises to fade. Long enough for old arrangements to lose their meaning.

Long enough to believe that perhaps, when Rhysand finally returned—if he returned—everything would be different.

Then fifty years ended. And the world changed. Without your knowledge, without your permission, without warning.

You were finishing dinner with your friends when Rhysand returned, a mundane moment interrupted by the sudden, inexplicable certainty that something had shifted in the Night Court.

You felt something deep beneath your ribs tighten so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs, though you could not have named it then as anything more than unease, a strange, inexplicable wrongness threading through your thoughts like a hand brushing over the back of your neck.

Rhysand had returned.

The entire Inner Circle was gathered at the Town House when it happened.

Everyone, except you.

You wouldn't learn exactly how furious he had been until later, how he had appeared in the Town House, exhausted and damaged and barely holding himself together. How he had embraced his family, his warriors, his closest confidants. How he had looked around the room, noting each familiar face, his expression growing darker with every moment that passed. How he asked one question.

"Where is she?"

No one dared to answer.

You were not there.

Which, to Rhysand, became the only answer that mattered.

You would not learn later how still he had gone after that moment. How every trace of relief, every fragment of survival, every hard-earned breath Under the Mountain had been set aside like something irrelevant.

How he had simply asked again, calmer, slower this time.

"Where?"

And how no one had been able to answer him immediately because the implication of what it meant to return without you in sight had not yet settled properly into words.

By the time you unlocked your apartment door later that evening, your hand was trembling. You noticed it, and frowned faintly at yourself, blamed the long day, the wine you'd shared over dinner, anything except the truth your body was already beginning to understand.

He was already waiting, seated in your chair, legs crossed elegantly. Surrounded by shadows and looking impossibly beautiful, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly alive.

And when he looked at you, you stopped breathing entirely.

For a moment you couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at the male you had been running from your entire life.

You had imagined this reunion a thousand times. None of those fantasies involved him being angry.

His gaze was already fixed on you, dark and intense and burning with something you couldn't quite identify. Something that made your skin prickle with awareness, your heart pound in your chest, your knees threaten to give out beneath you.

"You weren't home," was the first thing he said.

Home. You weren't sure if the Town House had ever truly felt like home.

"I…" Your voice came out embarrassingly small. "N-No."

You could see the muscle in his cheek twitch, the way something in him tightened at the sound of your voice. His gaze moved over you then, reassuring himself that you were real. That you were unharmed. That after fifty years, he had finally made it back to you.

Then the bond snapped. And the world exploded.

Mate

The word echoed through every part of you.

Mate Mate Mate

You had imagined the mating bond before. Dreamed of it, even. Wondered what it might feel like to experience that cosmic connection, that magical recognition, that perfect union of two souls meant for each other.

You had imagined warmth and certainty and joy.

Not this.

Not your entire soul lurching forward as if recognizing something it had spent centuries searching for. Not your knees nearly giving out. Not your heart breaking and healing simultaneously.

Across the room, Rhysand had frozen. For the first time in your life, you saw him stripped utterly bare. Shock, wide and unguarded flashed across his face. Relief so profound it nearly stole your breath.

Then something else crept into his expression. Something infinitely more possessive. Something that made your blood run cold.

The expression terrified you. Because suddenly every fear you'd ever carried became real.

You had wanted a mate. You had dreamed of one.

But not like this. Not someone who already had a claim on your future. Not someone powerful enough to remove every alternative.

Tears burned your eyes, and you stumbled backward.

His face immediately changed. Something wary entered his expression. Like he recognized exactly what was happening inside your head.

You hated that. Hated that he knew you so well.

And when he took a step toward you, you ran. Actually ran. One heartbeat he stood across the room. The next you were lunging for the front door. Not because you thought you could outrun him.

Because prey ran. It was instinct. Pure, thoughtless instinct.

You barely reached the door, before a solid body blocked your path. You slammed directly into his hard chest.

A startled noise escaped you as his strong hands closed around your waist, steadying you before you could fall.

Your palms landed flat against his chest. The entire thing happened so quickly your mind struggled to process it.

For one awful second, all you could think was that if he'd wanted to, he could have caught you before you'd even taken the first step.

"Mm," he murmured quietly above you, almost to himself. "So that's how we're starting?"

Your heart stopped. Then immediately started trying to beat its way out of your chest.

His voice was not raised, not sharp, not even angry. Nothing about this situation had surprised him at all. As though he had already seen every possible version of this moment and chosen the one where you were in his arms anyway.

His hands remained around your waist, not tightening, not pulling, only there, steadying you. It somehow felt far more intimate than if he'd held you tightly.

You throat bobbed.

His eyes followed the movement instantly.

The invisible thread seemed to hum, warmer now, heavier, like it was settling into place with growing certainty that made your chest tighten painfully.

Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip.

You immediately stepped backward.

Rhys let you. He simply released you enough that you could move, though the space between you did not truly feel like space at all, because he followed the motion with nothing more than a subtle shift of his body, as though he had already accounted for exactly how far you might go.

As though he had already measured every possible escape you might attempt.

"I need you to breathe." The words were impossibly gentle.

You hated how your body obeyed. Air filled your lungs in one shaky inhale.

His shoulders eased. Just slightly. As though your breathing had been affecting him too.

"You don't have to run," he said. His voice was quieter now, more careful.

You looked at him, really looked.

At the tension beneath that impossible composure. At the tremor in the fingers hanging motionless beside his thighs. At the way his chest expanded a fraction too deeply before every sentence. Like speaking calmly required conscious effort. Like there was something inside him straining so violently against its leash that even breathing had become work.

"Would you let me reject the bond?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

The answer arrived instantly. Not through words. Through his expression, through the absolute steel in his eyes.

No. No, he wouldn't.

Your heart sank.

Rhysand's gaze dropped for half a heartbeat. Not to your face or your hands. But to you. Like he was seeing you in a way he had never allowed himself before.

"I need you to listen to me," he spoke, his voice even lower than before. Somehow that made it infinitely more dangerous.

"I know this isn't what you wanted." He paused, "I know. And I know you're frightened."

Something had slipped through his control like a breath he hadn't meant to let out.

"But I have waited for you for a very long time."

The words landed too softly. Because nothing about the way he was looking at you matched softness at all. His gaze held yours, unblinking and steady. Patient in a way that made your skin crawl.

"As for what happens next," he murmured quietly, a faint shift in his stance barely perceptible, "you are going to hate me for a while."

A beat passed.

"And I will still be here."

Still, he did not move closer, did not touch you. Your gaze landed briefly to the front door. To the impossible distance between it and you. To the male standing in the way. You knew for a fact, that if he decided you weren't leaving, the door might as well not have existed.

As if he'd read your thoughts, Rhys followed your gaze, and one corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't amusement, not quite. Something rougher, something honest.

"That," he said, "is a different conversation."

That expression returned. The one that made him seem less like a High Lord and more like a male who had been starving for far too long.

Then, just as quickly, control slammed back into place. His throat bobbed. A swallow. A very mortal gesture.

And somehow that affected you more than anything else.

You forced your shoulders to relax. It didn't work.

The connection stretched taut.

Your weight shifted forward without you meaning it to, just slightly. A fraction of movement, the kind your body made when something inside you leaned before thought could stop it. Toward him.

It was not even conscious. Not a decision rationally made. Just the bond, pulling like gravity disguised as instinct.

And yet the effect on him was immediate. Rhysand went utterly still. Like the world had narrowed to that single, almost imperceptible motion.

His breath changed. A sharp inhale that he did not fully complete. His hands flexed once, slowly. Like he was physically stopping himself from doing something he had already begun to prepare for.

"Don't," he said, the word quiet.

But it was not directed at you. It seemed to be directed inward, at himself.

You froze, heart suddenly too loud.

"I didn't—" you started, confused, because you hadn't meant to move at all.

"I know," he interrupted gently. Rhysand took a deep breath. "But I am asking you to be careful anyway."

You frowned. "I don't understand."

"No." A faint smile ghosted across his mouth. "I don't suppose you do."

The restraint was suddenly louder than anything else in the room.

Rhysand exhaled slowly. His shoulders lowered by a fraction, like he was forcing himself back into himself. Back into control. Back into the version of him you had always known.

But now you had seen the crack. And cracks did not disappear once you noticed them. They only became harder to unsee.

"You are going to make this difficult," he sighed quietly. It almost sounded like amusement, almost.

But underneath it, there was something else. Something that made you want to clench your thighs together.

And then, softer again, "I already know I won’t mind."

Discoball

Azriel x reader

Summary: Azriel bumps into his tipsy mate on a night out. The IC don't know she exists.

A/N: I am 100% picturing the blumarine dress of my dreams... also apologies to anyone with purple hair....

Azriel had stopped listening to the conversation at the table the moment you twirled into peripheral view. One second you were laughing with one group, the next you’d somehow folded yourself into another like you’d been with them all along. You move through the dancefloor collecting people as you go, hands flying as you recount wildly animated stories one after another.

Cassian pushes back from the table mid-argument with Mor about whose turn it is to get drinks. “She’s going to notice you staring eventually.” He mutters into Azriel’s ear on his way past.

“I’m not staring” Azriel responds flatly.

Cassian snorts in disbelief at the lie. “You are absolutely staring!”

Mor leans over Nesta, peering through the crowd until she spots you. “Go say hi. She’s hot… I might go introduce myself if you don’t” she wriggles her eyebrows at Azriel as if that will encourage him to talk to anyone.

Azriel finally drags his attention away from you just long enough to shoot her a look. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes.”

“Rude.” Mor says, offended but delighted with herself at getting such a reaction out of the Shadowsinger.

“I love her dress!” Feyre remarks enraptured by the sequin number.

As if on cue, you turn mid-sentence, mid-gesture and spot him in the crowd. Your entire face lights up as you lock eyes with him. You disentangle yourself from the group without missing a beat, patting someone’s arm, giggling at something else, then immediately setting your sights on the booth like it’s your next destination.

“She’s coming here.” Amren says eager to see if this is a complete disaster waiting to happen.

“I don’t think we have time for a lesson on how to flirt.” Rhysand giggles into his glass as he watches you weave through the crowd towards their table.

You arrive slightly breathless, instinctively latching onto the edge of the booth to disguise your slight sway. Your eyes are bright and unfocused in a way that even if you weren’t unstable on your feet, it’s clear you’ve been drinking.

“Budge up.” you mumble, already climbing into his space before he has a chance to move. Azriel shifts automatically, one hand finding your waist to steady you. He’s seen you drunkenly slide off of too many chairs to trust it won’t happen again.

“Who died?” you ask far too loudly. “Seriouslyyy, why is it so serious over here? Did someone start a war without me?”You look between them all for an answer as you lean further into Azriel.

Mor blinks, giving you a look of pure confusion as she asks, “Do we know you?”

“No but I feel like you’re already deciding if I’m worth the headache.” you grin totally unserious before you zero in on Azriel. “You definitely think I am, so, why do you look like the fun police?”

“I don’t disapprove of fun.” He says quickly, raising his hands in mock defence.

“Right… So, it’s a lifestyle choice not to engage?” You ask, nodding to yourself like that makes total sense.

You poke his chest, a smirk tugging at your lips like you’re about to say something you shouldn’t and absolutely will anyway. His hand comes up automatically to steady your wrist before you can jab him again, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin. He exhales softly through his nose resigned to your teasing.

“I’m just trying to work out if this is your personality or your current blood alcohol level.” Rhysand states leaning back in his chair while glaring at you like you’re under investigation.

“I wish I could blame the alcohol, but this is a combination of the two I’m afraid.” You wave a hand over yourself like it’s obvious before your attention drifts right back to Azriel as if Rhysand has already been dismissed.

“I didn’t expect to see you h-” Azriel starts.

“Ugh I know!” You cut him off with a shout right into his ear. He tenses instinctively as you lean closer, as if your tone isn’t already deafening.

“This place is overrated. I say it every time. And I’m totally right about that by the way. But Dean is flirting with the bartender like it’s a full-time job and it’s honestly painful to watch…like physically painful but yeah Rita’s was out of the equation which sucks because her food is amazing… Anyway long story short I’m here. You’re welcome.” You ramble as if this is a reasonable summary of your night so far.

Azriel’s mouth quirks as he looks over to the bar intrigued, “Which bartender?”

That earns him immediate reactions from his family.

Nesta slowly turns her head toward him and stares like he’s lost his mind for encouraging you to go on.

Feyre lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Is this what happens when you remove him from silence? Pure chaos.”

Rhysand leans forward, squinting between the two of you. “Wait is he actually invested in the bartender situation?”

“Is it the one with all the earrings?” Azriel asks you for clarification, giving you so much attention that it seems like this is genuinely important intelligence he needs to gather.

“Purple hair… I mean, that alone tells you everything you need to know about their life choices” You mutter making him laugh.

Your gossip is cut short when Cassian walks over with a tray full of drinks. “I left for five minutes and Azriel is laughing with a beautiful stranger.” Cassian says, staring like he’s witnessing an alternate reality. “Did he have a personality transplant while I was gone? And, sorry, did we acquire a new member of the Inner Circle in my absence?”

You smile innocently at him, “Don’t worry about that, Az said he doesn’t want to babysit another drink, so you can hand it over.”

“I did not say that!” Azriel says immediately as you down the shot that was meant for him. “You’re incorrigible - do you know that?”

“Whatever happened to what’s mine is yours?” You laugh, slipping a hand into his hair to smoothing it back absentmindedly like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

Everyone is so distracted by your audacity to touch Azriel that they don’t register your words. Feyre freezes mid-breath, already preparing damage control. Rhys leans forward. “Did she just…”

“You’re either very brave or very stupid.” Nesta mutters as they all watch Azriel for a reaction that never comes. Instead, he just looks at you entirely unbothered like nothing about this is strange.

You clutch a hand to your chest dramatically as you look to Nesta, “that’s genuinely, actually is one of the nicest things anyone’s said to me tonight.” Your laughter cuts off as quickly as it starts, as you rush to add “Also I actually get that A LOT!”

Rhys huffs a laugh. “Somehow, I can believe that.”

“I’m surprised you’re here; This isn’t really your scene.” you say to Azriel.

“Cassian gets antsy if we don’t let him out the house.” Mor supplies making you giggle.

“Totally off topic but your shoes are incredible.” Feyre remarks.

“I thought you liked the dress?” Mor asks quickly.

“If there’s one thing about this group we can appreciate a good outfit.” Amren comments to which they all nod.

“So many people have said that to me but if we’re being honest, I think they’re starting to cut off my circulation! Wait - do you think that can actually happen?” You ask looking to Azriel for an answer.

Refraining from saying he told you not to wear them, Az shakes his head at the question. “No, I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet.”

“Are you having a good night?” Azriel asks wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him to hear your answer over the music.

“Yeah, but I’m tired. Is that what happens when you get old?” You ask supressing a yawn.

Azriel exhales through his nose. “I’m two months older than you!”

“Don’t tell people how old I am, I have a terrible reputation to uphold Azriel!” you scold him before breaking into a fit of tipsy giggles and curling even closer into his side like it’s instinct.

“Oh, you’re very drunk y/n” Azriel mutters.

You laugh again. “It’s the two-month age gap… it makes me less responsible.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” He says wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Oh, trust you to find him but lose your jacket” Dean mutters walking up to the table and throwing your jacket at you.

“My hero!” You yell back catching it without looking in his direction.

“Wait. No. This is wrong; why are there so many sleeves… ugh.” You struggle with it like it’s a puzzle for all of two seconds before Azriel quietly helps. “Thank you. I’ve gone super cold.”

“First my drink, now my jacket.” Azriel remarks looking at the familiar fabric drowning you.

“Next your dignity.” you mumble, smiling sleepily as you slump back into him.

Feyre laughs.

“She’s efficient, I’ll give her that.” Cassian says proudly.

“She has no survival instinct” Amren comments. You grin at her like that’s a compliment.

“Anyway the purpose of the drop by is that Luna’s having an afterparty. Are you coming?” You ask Azriel.

Rhysand clears his throat to get your attention before he can answer. “Sorry, how exactly do you know each other?” Rhys pries.

“Please don’t tell us she’s one of your spies.” Amren mutters.

You open your mouth ready to say something flippant and deflective, but Azriel beats you to it. “She’s not a spy” he says, glancing at your glitter-covered outfit. “Look at her.”

He can’t look away.

“I feel a bit dizzy.” You admit abruptly. “So, is that a yes or a no Az? Because snacks are calling me.”

“Drink this.” He says suddenly holding a glass in front of your face.

“Is this water? See what I mean about the fun police now?” You remark humouring him by taking a sip.

“Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.” He counters.

“If I say no to Luna’s, will you go?” Azriel questions with a yawn of his own.

You shrug. “Yeah! If you go back to brooding in a booth while pretending you’re having fun, I’ll go to Luna’s and tell everyone I tried to save you from yourself.”

“What time did she want us there?” he asks.

“So, you’ll come?” you clarify.

“I can’t have you judging people without me, can I?” He asks much to your delight. You beam up at him, practically glowing, like that was the correct answer all along, and Azriel feels his heart go giddy in his chest.

“So what time are we leaving?” He repeats.

“Oh! She wanted everyone about an hour ago but…” Your eyes glance back to the bar for a second before you look back to Azriel. “Dean’s still flirting, so we have time. Wow he moves slow!” You sigh like he’s a personal disappointment.

“I think you should give him some tips Az. Like I said, this is fucking painful to watch!” you add seriously.

Azriel shakes his head, amused despite himself. “I am not giving him tips.”

“I didn’t say you have to flirt with him! Just go diffuse that situation… That’s your thing!” You instruct him, crossing your arms expectantly.

Cassian’s wheezes. “You cannot be serious. Azriel is not the guy you go to if you need help flirting.”

“Why? He’s good at it!” you shoot back immediately, offended on Azriel’s behalf.

Rhys slowly looks between the two of you. “He is?”

Cassian points at Azriel like he needs confirmation. “This one? This exact male? The one who avoids eye contact like it’s a sport?”

Feyre tries and fails not to laugh. “I’ve known him for years. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him flirt.”

You frown at them, confused. “What are you talking about? He flirts with me all the time!”

You practically feel the entire table collectively wince on your behalf. “Oh sweetheart… That does not help your case.” Cassian smiles at you giving you a look of pity, like you’ve said something you’ll regret in the morning.

Then Azriel leans down, close enough that his mouth is just by your ear as he mumbles, “Careful. You’re going to give away all my secrets.”

“You’re so cute it’s unreal.” You giggle smushing his cheeks together.

Rhysand expects his brother to bat your hand away instead Azriel takes your hands gently prying them off his face but not letting go.

“What if we blew off Luna’s and went home?” he asks quietly, giving you a look that practically shouts he’s ready to leave.

You watch him grab his jacket and call him out on what this really is. “Are you tired Az?”

“Yes. Don’t forget I am older” He winks at you like it’s a lie.

“Mm… Do we have snacks?” You ask him urgently.

His mouth twitches for a second before he answers “Yes. I’ll even make you something before you sleep so you’re not totally miserable tomorrow.”

“Okay. You’ve sold me!” You respond with a yawn.

Azriel reaches for the jacket already hanging off your shoulders, tugging it properly into place and smoothing it down like its habit. “Right then, I’m taking her home before she forgets how to walk. I trust you’ll all survive without me”

“He says that like he won’t pass out the second we get home. It’s bold of you to assume I’m the only liability here.” You dramatically roll your eyes.

Cassian chokes. Mor nearly spits her drink.

“You’re… going home together?” Feyre asks slowly.

Cassian points between you both. “As in the same home?”

“That’s usually how living together works, yeah…” You glance at them with a raised eyebrow.

Mor’s jaw visibly drops to the floor. “You’re together?” She asks quickly.

“Duh” Azriel says perfectly mimicking your tone.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #reader insert #mating bond #azriel fic #azriel #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic

•18+ Adults Only

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WHERE THE MOON SHINES BETWEEN US – one Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

synopsis As the sister to the greatest Night Court High Lord in history, the one thing you share with Azriel is that you live in Rhysand’s shadows—each in your own way. But even being hidden can’t stop your life from shattering, over and over again. When a bargain ties you and the shadowsinger together, what will stop that from being fractured, too?

tags yearning, slow burn, angst, hurt-comfort, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, inner circle, found family, did i mention SLOW BURN, this fic is literally her entire immortal life,

warnings features the spring court attack, under the mountain with rhys centuries later, & everything before, after, and in between. in this chapter: violence, angst, grief, mentions of war, spring court attack described in detail

word count 7.5k

author's note she's here. rhysand's sister if she survives and grows to rely on a certain shadowsinger more than she ever could have expected. technically i consider this two chapters, but we're setting everything in motion right off the bat regardless – expect no shortage of angst & yearning w everyone's favorite shadowsinger to come <3

series masterlist | next chapter | read on ao3 | taglist open

THE BEGINNING

Two years after you were born, a pair of boys opened the door to a windowless cell and pulled out their younger brother. He squinted, stumbling out into the open field under the dusky sun, and winced as his brothers tugged on his too-smooth hands that had only seen eight years of life. They threw him on the grass, soil staining his teeth, and splayed out his arms.

They wanted to test the healing that came from his blood, and so they did the first thing they could think of. The second-eldest brother kept him in place as oil sloshed over his palms, fingers, wrists. The eldest brother was the one to light the match.

The boy’s screams were what saved him.

Seven years before that, your brother was born. For Fae, the five years between you was barely a breath, but to Rhys, he might as well have been double your age. Your mother didn’t need to raise him to care for you—it was innate, the way he wanted to shield you, to protect you.

😭😭when I asked for superbat omegaverse I really didn't think you'd hit me with hot spiky bricks (╥ᆺ╥) what did I ever do to you??

Nah I'm kidding I love this!! Aghh it hurt me so bad,and you mentioned that you'd try to give me something fluffy because this was meant to kill me,but,BUT, can ya gimme a continuous for this pleaseeeeeee,but with a happy ending, after making sure Clark has faced consequences (seeing Bruce silently drifting so so far away from him) and has repented GOOD like begging on his knees, crying, desperate, dying kind of repentance,but still a happy ending (please don't end it sad or else I will cry)

*aims a blowtorch at my brick pile*

Part 1

Clark hasn't been in Bruce's nest for six weeks when it happens. He hasn't kissed him in four, after Bruce gave up the facade for everyone and secluded himself more. He's not touched him in three. He's not seen him in one.

in a different world masterlist

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an arizel x modern!reader au

➺ warnings: angst, grief, mentions of death, parental loss, emotional distress, escapism, mild self-destructive thoughts (non-graphic), accidental world-hopping, yearning, canon divergence, slight rom-com

➺ summary: the death of your mother has paused your studies and, despite everything, brought you back home. the pressure of school, her sudden absence, and the guilt you’ve carried since leaving at eighteen hollow you out in ways you can’t name. in the overgrown quiet of your childhood backyard, you find yourself wishing for an existence that isn’t yours. the wish sinks deep—deep enough to cause a rift, to tear something open in the world. and you, overwhelmed and ever so curious, fall right through it.

➺ or: reader, drowning in a grief so deep it splits the world open, falls through a tear in space in her childhood backyard. she lands in prythian, a land full of fae, courts, and ancient magic. azriel, who has known for centuries that he has no mate, no missing half, feels the shift the moment she arrive. something in the world changes. something in him changes. your new existence in his world creates a new piece of his soul he was never meant to find, but what can he do. after all, you don't belong here.

➺ status: ongoing

➺ word count: tbd

➺ taglist: (idk how to do this. dm me or comment if you wanna be on the taglist lol)

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar x you #fated mates #slow burn #yearning #hidden feelings #angst #mating bond